


we could hold hands for a pool length underwater

by Colordrained



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Asexual Castiel, Asexuality, Bars and Pubs, Human Castiel, I'm gonna tag add tags per chapter, M/M, Sexual Harassment, Strangers to Lovers, idk lmao, its very lowkey and it's not Dean/Cas but I'll tag it, uh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 02:30:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4504239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colordrained/pseuds/Colordrained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>pronably set with season 8 Dean bc you can't go wrong with that. Sorry for grammatical errors! expect 2-3 chapters! also I love ace!cas so fucking much!! </p><p>song is from Pusher by Alt-J which is beautiful</p>
    </blockquote>





	we could hold hands for a pool length underwater

**Author's Note:**

> pronably set with season 8 Dean bc you can't go wrong with that. Sorry for grammatical errors! expect 2-3 chapters! also I love ace!cas so fucking much!! 
> 
> song is from Pusher by Alt-J which is beautiful

It's almost too loud in the red-brick, neon-decked corner bar. Dean enjoys it; the continuous stream of conversation is monotonous enough to take the stress away. There's no one thing to focus on, and so it's easy to get lost in the noise. It's easy to tip back three or four shots and smile at nothing in particular. That's what Dean does.

This bar is the closest one he could find to the bunker, albeit still a forty-two minute drive. In an effort to stay as anonymous as possible among the 'local' crowd, though, Dean makes a point not to visit too often. Tonight Sam had offered to come pick him up after a few hours, so Dean accepted.

After going to the bathroom and settling back into his favorite booth seat, Dean decides people-watching seems like an enjoyable way to pass the next thirty minutes. He doesn't feel like hooking up, or fighting, or hustling tonight: just wants to relish in the calm.

So he watches the fellow bar-goers: pretty girls with low cut shirts, bulky college kids with heavy facial hair and sloppy speech, quiet older folks looking somewhere between sad and disappointed, people at the bar attempting to find someone to get too close to. Dean gives his buzzed brain credit for being so observant.

He's just noticed a pretty girl with deep sienna skin at a standing table and has officially decided to watch her from afar when a shrill voice distracts him.

"Come _on_ , babe. You know I'm irrisitable. You know it and just don't wanna admit it."

Dean pins the voice to a tall girl by the bar. While she isn't speaking particularly loud, her voice stands out as pushy and obnoxious. Her long black hair is pulled into a pretty ponytail, her jeans fit tight to her pretty legs, her pretty chest swells from her thin-strapped tank top. She leans too far into a plain looking man seated on a barstool. Dean watches the scene as it unfolds.

The woman pulls out all the stops: traces lines on the guy's hand, looks at him thought long eyelashes, bites her bottom lip after she finishes her sentences. It would work on Dean, he knows it. 

Dean smirks and shifts in the booth to see the guy; inevitably see his mouth open slightly and his pupils blown, helplessly falling. 

Something's off, though. Even twenty feet away and slightly drunk Dean can tell. The man is shying away, reserved and hesitant. His foot bounces nervously and his eyes dart to anywhere but her. He looks painfully uncomfortable. Dean has no goddamn clue why the guy's not into her, but it's clear as day. 

Debating between looking at the pretty girl at the table and helping the poor totally-not-interested stranger, Dean sips on some water. He gazes at each for a moment, not particularly invested in either. Then he watches as the girl at the bar forces a kiss on the distraught man. And yeah, okay, that's uncool as hell, even if Dean doesn't understand the dynamic.

Dean slides from the booth with ease, sways his hips a little when he walks, runs his hand through his hair, and waltzes right up to the man. 

"Babe!" Dean says enthusiastically. He hugs the man gently around the shoulders and plants a soft kiss on his cheekbone, "You havin' fun?" Dean gives him a wild grin and then turns to the woman, glaring. 

She narrows her eyes at Dean, "Seriously. _Seriously?_ I—" The girl huffs out a breath, pivots, and saunters away. 

Dean quickly removes his hands from the stranger, holding them up as if to surrender, and takes the pretty girl's seat.

"I am so sorry for putting my hands on you," Dean starts, "Now, admittedly...," he rubs his forehead, "I probably could have done something else. But I'm kinda buzzed and it seemed like the best idea. I just. No one deserves what she was doin' to you." 

He stares at Dean all at once stunned, confused, and thankful. 

"Forgive me," the man says, "for seeming so flustered. That was just a lot at once." He looks back at Dean, "And there's no need to apologize; thank you for getting her to go away."

"Don't mention it. I'm uh, I'm Dean, by the way. And I'll totally just leave you alone if you'd like, just say the word."

"No, no, it's, uh, you're fine," he's quiet for a moment, "I'm Cas." 

"Hi, Cas," Dean says, quite a bit gentler than his previous tone. 

Cas nods, "Hello, Dean."

"I'm gonna order a water, you want one?" 

"Sure, Thank you." 

Although Cas still looks very physically unsettled, Dean leaves it alone. He orders two waters and absently sucks on his lower lip. After a minute or so of silence, Cas looks no less shaken.

Dean offers a comforting, "You okay?" 

Cas breathes deep and slow, "I'm just frustrated. I'm angry that people are never understanding, that I can't just stand up for myself in situations like this. It's stupid. And it's stupid that I'm even telling you about this, you don't care, I'm just being whiney, it's—"

"Hey, hey. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know. And I don't really know what all the other stuff means, but I do know that it's not easy to tell people at bars to leave you alone. Never goes well, y'know? So don't beat yourself up for that."

The bartender sets two ice waters on the table and each of them take one. Cas takes a long drink, then looks at Dean.

"I'm asexual. And I never want to tell people that because, you know, I don't wanna get harassed. And I just wish it wasn't that way."

Dean breathes deep and nods, "I gotcha. Yeah, that uh...that sucks. People are awful sometimes."

Cas nods, truly looks at Dean for the first time, and realizes that he _is_ kinda pretty. 

"I, uh," Dean laughs nervously, "I am so not trying to be a dick, but what does asexual mean, exactly?"

Smiling, Cas answers him, "It's fine. It means, uh, I don't experience sexual attraction, like ever. Don't have sexual desire. Just how I'm made."

"Oh," Dean nods and takes a sip of water, "Damn, that makes the whole ordeal with the girl ten times worse." 

"Yeah," Cas sighs, "But I'll get over it. Thanks again." 

"Not a problem, Cas," Dean throws in a grin at the end and, alright, Cas can now see that perhaps Dean is prettier than the average guy at a corner bar. 

He can see the way Dean's lower lip slopes down to meet his chin, then to his solid jaw, his tan neck. He can see the freckles on Dean's eyes, nose, cheek, temple. He can see Dean's firm shoulders, steady hands, toned forearms, strong thighs. Most of all, Cas can see that he wouldn't mind—not in the slightest—laying down every night with, curling up for movies with, sipping coffee with, walking in parks with, and making breakfast with Dean. Not in the slightest.

Cas keeps this to himself, though, because Dean is a stranger, after all. Cas can't spend his time imagining a deep romance with a person he hardly knows.

"So whatcha doing here tonight, Cas? Just drinkin'?" Dean asks, interrupting his thoughts.

"Actually, I've only had soda and water. I just come down here sometimes to eat fries and watch baseball," Cas points to the TV screen overhead.

Dean smirks and looks at the game for a second, "Gotcha. That sounds kinda nice." 

"It is, especially if the Royals win," Cas smiles, "How about you? Just drinking?" 

"Pretty much, honestly. And people watching, if that counts," Dean takes a sip of water and without hesitation asks, "So uh, do you not do relationships at all then? Or just not sexual ones?" 

Wondering if there is some subtext in the question, Cas smiles and answers, "No, no. I'm biromantic and bisensual."

Cas laughs at the blatant at-a-loss look on Dean's face, "It means I enjoy romantic relationships, and I like intimacy and hand-holding and whatever with guys and girls."

"Yeah?" Dean bites his bottom lip, "Alright."

"How about you?" Cas asks.

"I uh," Dean rubs his eye, "I have no clue what I am," and then, trying not to stutter, "but I think holding hands with _you_ sounds kinda nice."

He looks at Cas and knows he's probably blushing but sticks his bottom jaw out a bit to steel himself.

Cas' eyebrows raise and he laughs because he doesn't know what else to do. Yeah, there was some subtext. 

"Yeah?" Cas says. He takes another drink.

"Sorry," Dean says immediately, "You just got hit on by that girl. I wasn't tryna be like that, I shouldn't have, uh, you know...pretend I never said that." Dean looks at the bar to avoid eye contact.

"Don't be sorry, it's fine." 

Dean continues to stare anywhere but next to him. Cas gives him a light shove on the arm, "Hey, you want my number or what?"

At that, Dean quickly turns his focus back to the man, "Wait, seriously?" 

"Yeah," Cas says, finding a pen on the bar near him and grabbing Dean's hand, "Here." He writes the digits on the back of Dean's hand. 

Dean isn't sure anything else in the world could have bettered the feeling of that ballpoint on his skin. 

"We can, like, go shopping or watch movies or something if you want. You know," Cas says happily.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll uh, I'll take you up on it soon," Dean replies.

Before Cas can reply, Dean's phone vibrates and upon answering, a very tired Sam is yelling 'I'VE BEEN IN THE PARKING LOT FOR THIRTEEN FUCKING MINUTES, DUDE' and Dean is wincing and apologizing and laughing all at once. Dean slides off the bar stool and says, "Okay, okay, shut up you idiot I'll be there in two I gotta say bye to this cute guy," and hangs up.

Cas stands up, and as Dean is saying, "I'll certainly give you a call, Cas. Thanks for being good company," Cas just leans in and hugs him.

Dean stops, and looks at the guy, and then gives a small hug back.

"Thank you, seriously, for doing what you did. I look forward to that call, okay?" Cas says, pulling back and looking straight at Dean.

Dean, having trouble once again with direct eye contact, bites his bottom lip and nods. "I'll see you soon, Cas." 

"See you."

Dean gives him a little salute, pivots, and walks contentedly towards the door. 

Minutes later, sliding into the Impala's passenger seat, Dean takes a deep breath and says, "Sam, you aren't gonna fuckin' believe what I just did."

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments more than Dean loves Cas ((which is a lot))
> 
> @ baseball gods forgive me for supporting the royals in this piece i promise i am still strictly a hardcore cards fan


End file.
